even if they gained control of the factory, it would be no use to them; the working class was far inferior in administrative ability; therefore they must fight through the works council or the efficiency committee. All this he understood, but to express it!
“But, even if”
Tora-Ko, his hand raised in the air, stood here dumb and confused.
“That’s the stuff; go it, delegate!” One old man squatting there gave him a little encouragement.
“Even if they gave us the factory, it’s no use to us!” Tora-Ko closed his eyes and with a mighty effort spat out the words.
“Hold on a bit, youngster—who’s likely to give it to us?” chipped in one man lying stretched near his feet. Tora-Ko was very put out, but the others gave big guffaws of laughter.
“Tora-Ko, just a minute!” A diminutive little fellow in overalls appeared. At first glance he looked like a small boy ready for any mischief, but if you looked closer you would see he might be about thirty.
“Come down here a minute.”
Tora-Ko lost his temper, but the others pulled him down by the sleeve. The little man was the factory organizer for their union.
“I want to talk to you,” he said, and, going off with him outside the shops, he stood on his tip-toes and whispered into Tora-Ko’s ear. When he had finished Tora-Ko asked, “What do you mean by a picketing squad?”
